Homecoming
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: The events of "Anonymous Was a Woman" transpire differently, leading to a series of changes for Team Gibbs. A Zibbs fic for sandlinerica. NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

When morning dawned following Gibbs' tense confrontation with the mob, he and McGee immediately went to work. They were Americans a long way from home, and their only connection to their usual resources was a crackling satellite connection that allowed them to spend no more than ten minutes per phone call. Neither of them earned more than a few sympathetic syllables before their pleas were met with the nagging beep of an ended connection. Tensions slowly rose with the sun, and by noon Gibbs could see that McGee was on the verge of spiking the sat-phone into the dirt.

"McGee," he said brusquely.

"What?" Tim replied, his voice sharp. He instantly winced at his tone, and covered it by rubbing the sweat that had gathered on his upper lip. "Yeah, boss?" he tried again.

Gibbs tilted his head in forgiveness, and extended an open palm for the phone. "Take a break," he suggested. "Get some water." He nodded up at the sun. "Shade too."

He watched the younger man wrestle with the urge to protest, but ultimately give in to his frustration. McGee handed him the phone with a murmur of thanks. Even after Tim disappeared inside, Gibbs took his time deciding his next course of action. The problem was that they weren't making any progress, and they were running out of time. They were calling the people with the most resources to share, but Gibbs wondered if that was the right tack. The people with the most resources had the slowest response time. With a mob breathing down his neck, Gibbs needed to focus his dwindling hours of daylight on the people would be able to facilitate as swift a response as possible. At this point, even having just a few more bodies on hand would make a world of difference. The problem was his list of people who were mobile and reachable were far and few between.

Reachable or not, there was only one name that rose to the top of the list of those he'd want watching his back. Gibbs dialed solemnly, unaware of the eyes on him as he put the phone to his ear and squinted into the sun. He received no answer, and left his coordinates in a brief message. "I need your help," he finished. "Meet us as soon as you can. We'll be waiting."

When he hung up, Catherine Tavier stood at his elbow, shielding her eyes from the glaring midday sun. "Hardly seems the same town, does it?" She remarked of the people passing by along the street. None of them gave the women's shelter a second look as they moved past. One could almost believe that they didn't care about the shelter or what it stood for, that they knew nothing of the mob that had tried to murder the girls last night. Except that Gibbs knew that in a town like this, no one could possibly be unaware of the events of last night, and that same disinterest now condemned each and every one of the passersby as equally culpable as those who attacked last night.

"I am truly grateful for everything you've done for us, Agent Gibbs," Catherine continued. "I can't thank you enough. But they will come again, and neither you nor Agent McGee will be able to stay indefinitely."

She was right. Gibbs' gambit with the mob the night before gave the girls a brief respite. They might— _might_ —get a pass tonight. After that, however, the men would return, and there would be nothing to stand in their path. Gibbs didn't have the ability or resources to provide the girls with the long-term protection they needed. If his contact got his message, however, there may yet be some hope for these girls. He lifted his hand and indicated the satellite phone he clasped. "I've made a call. They can help."

"What kind of reinforcements?" Catherine asked sardonically. She lacked the support of the UN troops, and she knew it. "A small army, perhaps?"

"Nope," Gibbs smirked, turning to rejoin McGee inside the building. "Better."

That night and the following day passed uneventfully, to the relief of every person in the house. Gibbs spoke candidly with their UN contact, who repeatedly asked him and McGee to return to base with him.

"These women need your help," Tim told the man boldly, arms crossed angrily over his chest. "You have the means and opportunity to help them find better lives and you're not doing _anything_. What's the point of having troops in the area if you're not going to help where help is needed?"

"I wish we could," the Lieutenant replied earnestly, "but this is not our objective. Nor is it yours. You have the information you need, don't you? You no longer have any business in this country. The General wants you out."

"That an order?" Gibbs asked. If it was, they had a problem. Even he could only push the limits of the UN's goodwill so far, and if the General wanted them gone, they'd be gone by sundown.

To Gibbs' relief, the Lieutenant sagged. "Not yet. But I believe it will be if you push your luck much farther. I like you Agent Gibbs. I want to help here, and I've done all I can to advocate for them, but I do have my orders, and they aren't here."

"You're looking for Al Qaida, right?" McGee pointed out relentlessly. "How much do you want to bet that mob was part of it? You can lean on them, pressure them to either leave the girls alone or give them information about other cells."

Gibbs hadn't realized Catherine was eavesdropping until she spoke up, eyes wide with worry. "You can't be serious. Those men are looking for any excuse to burn us out, or worse! If any of them are targeted for being Al Qaida, the rest will come looking for trouble here!"

"She's right," Gibbs agreed. It was an option he'd already considered and dismissed for the same reasons. They couldn't remove the threat; at best, they could remove the bullseye from the girls' backs. At the very least, maybe they could put some obstacles between the mob and the shelter.

McGee huffed in frustration. "What else we can do?"

"We wait," Gibbs returned simply. He eyed the Lieutenant. "Get us as much time as you can. We won't start anything, but we will stay here until we are given orders to leave, or we get some help. Whichever comes first."

Their reprieve ended that night. Gibbs felt it in his bones long before he heard the first rumble of an approaching vehicle. Even before sundown, the very people he and Catherine had been observing passing by the shelter such nonchalance seemed to hurry past, their pace hastened by some unspoken threat. In a way, it was a blessing. It gave them time to prepare, and tell the women what they should do if Gibbs and McGee failed to keep them at bay. There wasn't much they _could_ do, but they had a choice. Surrender quietly and return home to live out their lives; or fight to the bitter end, here and now.

Gibbs hoped it wouldn't come to that. He had yet to hear back from his contact, and had no idea if she had even gotten the message. He was on his own, and couldn't bank on a miracle save with so many lives on the line. Even so, Gibbs continued to hope as the rumble and cough of sand-crusted vehicles bounced off the buildings around him, encroaching steadily. The bodies they bore into sight were familiar faces from the altercation before, one of whom seemed to have a stiff shoulder as they glowered at him. Gibbs' eyes caught on his opponent from the night before and then passed on, dismissing him as the group's possible ring leader. Sure enough, there was one man who stepped out of his vehicle first, and approached Gibbs as an equal.

The man wore a dark turban and white robes, his features disguised by the shifting shadows as his men lit torches from behind. Gibbs gripped his weapon more firmly. There were twice as many aggressors as the last stand-off they'd had, and he was again the only one who stood in the street. McGee had protested but Gibbs knew their only advantage was to disguise their true numbers. Tim was at his post behind the boarded up windows, already finding his targets. It would be difficult for him to get off a clean shot with Gibbs in the foreground, but if the crap hit the fan, that wouldn't matter.

The ringleader's head swung left and right, sweeping his gaze over the men lining up at his back. He knew the ominous picture they painted, and Gibbs saw the silhouette of his cheeks bulge in a dark smile. Gibbs shifted the stock of his rifle into the pocket of his shoulder. In the space of a heartbeat, he could sight and fire before the ringleader could react. One shot, and he could end it before the melee could start. As soon as the thought occurred to him, Gibbs dismissed it. Taking the first shot might dispel this crowd tonight, but it would rain all kind of hell over the girls barricaded in the house behind him. They would lose the protection of the UN, such that it was, and they would be on their own once he and McGee returned to the States. He could not strike first. He hesitated to cause even moderate harm, knowing the women had nowhere else to go, and revenge for injuries would be just as swift. Their only hope of further support from the UN meant that they had to wait for the mob to make the first move, and rely on self-defense only. With only himself and McGee on hand, it wasn't a plan he particularly liked.

"Go home!" Gibbs called in warning, directing his voice towards the leader but keeping his gaze wide to keep all of the men in his periphery. "You have no business here!"

"You are mistaken," the nameless leader declared. "It is you who have no business here, American. It is time for _you_ to go home, and stop filling our daughters' heads with nonsense!"

"They made their own choices," Gibbs countered.

"They are young and foolish! They do not know what is best for them. You lead them down the path of sin and destruction. We will no longer allow you to lead them further astray!" The man's shoulders dropped in readiness. Gibbs tightened his grip on his rifle, ready to aim once the man made his move. "Kill—"

His command was interrupted by a sharp whine that ended with an explosion of dirt at his feet. The ringleader froze in confusion, until several seconds later they heard the tell-tale crack of a rifle in the distance. The men immediately began to shift with growing panic—they weren't told there would be a sniper. As their leader tried to reign them back in line, Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief. He had his back up.

"You didn't think I was stupid enough to be out here on my own, did you?" he announced forcefully, cutting through the growing din of the men's fear. The leader turned and faced him, eyes sharp in the torchlight. Gibbs met his gaze unfazed, and tapped the side of his skull, grinning. "Next one is a headshot."

In the darkened streets, the rest of the town was silent, a quiet broken only by the sounds of the milling agitators. Some were already gravitating towards their vehicles, but the man who had commanded Gibbs to leave stood still, a small man in a situation rapidly spiraling out of his control. Within moments the struggle between fight and flight was over, and the man's nose crinkled angrily in defeat, allowing himself to be pulled back to the waiting Jeep. Gibbs held his rival's gaze, and though not a word was spoken he knew that this wasn't the end. Bitter vengeance burned in the man's eyes, and in them Gibbs saw a bit of himself—the dogged determination that spurred Gibbs to push limits would bring this man and his crew back to this place again and again. For tonight, however, they were outmaneuvered and it would buy the girls one more day.

Gibbs waited until the headlights disappeared and the rumble of the engines faded from earshot before he turned away and stared into the darkness from which the saving shot had come. Wordlessly, he tilted his head towards the structure, inviting their guardian angel to join them. It would take time to pack up and make the careful trek down the hill. Gibbs took advantage of the minutes and stepped into the women's shelter to check on the others. Catherine nodded that no one was hurt, but Gibbs saw that they were all still tense. He watched Catherine get to work, passing around water and speaking quietly to each of the girls in turn. McGee gravitated towards him.

"Boss, the third shooter—" McGee's eyes were round, his grip on his pistol still firm. Gibbs could see the lingering effects of adrenaline, but was pleased to know that his agent was otherwise calm. Calm and puzzled. "Who…?"

"Give it a minute, Tim," Gibbs said softly. He met McGee's eyes and held them, silently urging him to not overthink it. The wheels turned, and when McGee didn't ask any further questions, it was clear he trusted Gibbs had it under control. Gibbs nodded and left it at that. There would be time for explanations later.

He joined Catherine, and through her translating spoke with a few of the women. They were beginning to relax, and by the time Gibbs rose again, the youngest girls were already beginning to doze. He glanced at his watch and slipped out the front door, securing it firmly behind him. The night air was now cool enough to feel refreshing, making his sweat tacky against his skin. He lingered at the corner of the building, just visible in the light cast from a neighboring window. He kept his eyes and ears peeled for movement, but still didn't hear anyone approach until a familiar voice drifted from the shadows.

"That was risky, Jethro." Ziva stepped from the shadows of the alley, barely a shadow in the dark coming to rest against the far building. Gibbs shifted, and bringing her into soft focus in the light leaking from the window behind him. She stood balanced and ready, at ease in the dark. He doubted the long rifle bag across her shoulder was the only weapon on her person, and in fact spied a suspicious lump of shadow on her right thigh that resembled a 9mm semi-automatic. The longer he waited, the more his eyes took in: the relaxed muscles around her eyes, the restored sparkle of youthful energy in her gaze as she looked at him.

"Didn't expect you so soon," he returned finally. Her smirk reminded him it was a good thing she'd arrived as quickly as she had. Tonight would have ended very differently had it been only him and McGee against the mob. "Thank you."

"I'm glad I was able to help," Ziva replied. "It would have been difficult to explain why American agents are shooting at Afghani citizens."

"Not much choice," he said simply. For several moments they regarded each other comfortably. Gibbs carefully packed away the things he wanted to tell her, and focused on the task at hand. "Ziva—"

"Wait." She interrupted him gently, her eyes scanning the street behind him. "Follow me." She melted into the darkness as easily as a cat. Gibbs followed quickly before he could lose her in the shadows. He trailed silently behind her as she led him through the narrow alleys. They traveled without eyes upon them, and didn't run into a single other soul. They paused only once when they furtively crossed a wide street to the continued alley beyond. Ziva led him to a short wide building nearly half a mile from the shelter and swiftly picked the lock. Once inside, she brought them upstairs to another locked room, which yielded just as quickly to her picks.

"I set this up as a potential safe house years ago," she explained, waving at the small, dusty room around them. "I didn't realize how close the shelter was until I tracked your coordinates. We got lucky."

Ziva locked the door behind them and swiftly struck a match to light a small oil lantern that sat waiting on a low table just inside the door. She moved both lantern and table to the middle of the room, where it could cast its small glow without leaking too conspicuously out the crack under the door. It was just enough light for them to see each other, no more. Ziva pulled up a pair of dusty chairs and set them on either side of the table. She claimed the one with a direct line of sight to the door and sat, sweeping her long hair over one shoulder as Gibbs settled in the remaining seat. "Now, you can explain. Why are you in Kabul? And why call me?"

Now he told her everything he hadn't in his message: the case that had led them here, and the men who threatened to return the girls to the homes they'd left. He even told her about Franks' involvement. It didn't occur to him to hesitate until the words were already spilling out of his mouth. She was the only one Gibbs could say knew Franks as well as he did, and it wasn't as though the information could be leveraged against her position at NCIS. She took the details in stride, and listened without interruption until he finished. When he fell silent, Ziva sat back and didn't speak for several long moments. Gibbs mirrored her movements and leaned back in his seat as well, prepared to let her process the information.

"And what is it that I can do that you cannot?" she asked finally. "I can move the girls here, give them a few days, perhaps a week, but that will only last until the next time one of them needs to venture out for supplies."

"That's not good enough," Gibbs sighed. He rubbed a tired hand over his face. The past few days were starting to catch up to him. He could feel it in his bones, and felt dull in the face of his partner's renewed energy.

"No," Ziva agreed dourly, "it's not. I can teach them how to defend themselves, fortify the building for a worst case scenario, but these girls aren't warriors, Gibbs. And I can't teach them enough before they'll need to use it. And frankly, if the rest of the village finds out the girls can handle weapons, there will be no safe quarter for them _anywhere_." Gibbs nodded his agreement. "They need to get out of the country."

Gibbs didn't respond, but it was the solution he was waiting for. It was the only permanent solution, but one he couldn't facilitate himself. That was why he'd called her. She was not just a third gun, not just someone he trusted enough to watch his back; she could disappear. She had contacts and resources that could help these girls survive, and the means to get them across the border. He saw the moment Ziva put the pieces together, and the stark surprise of realization. "Can you do it?" he asked quietly before she could dismiss it as nonsense.

Ziva inhaled slowly, her head shaking in a _no._ It quickly shifted into a shrug as her thoughts continued to work, going over her options. "I don't know," she sighed. "To get one or two of them out would be a simple thing. But over a dozen? I do not know Franks' network of contacts, or where to even begin trying to trace his steps." She closed her eyes, a grim determination stilling her features. When she reopened them, they were calm and steady. "I will do what I can. Perhaps if I talk to Leyla, she may be able to tell me something about her own journey that can lead me to a step in the pipeline."

It wasn't much of a promise, had it come from anyone else, but it was enough for Gibbs. Ziva wasn't one to give up easily. If she committed to helping the women back at the shelter, he knew should would exhaust every resource until the job was done. The way forward may not be clear to either of them now in the shadows of the night, but she would find a happen, and do whatever she needed to do to make it work.

He sat back in his chair, lifting his head against his fatigue to take in the sight of her. She was determined, he could see plainly. Less plain was the heat of her gaze as she brought her eyes to his; for a moment, he thought he imagined it, conjured by his wish to know she had missed him as much as he had her. Then he saw her chest lift sharply, and he felt an electric spark that jumped from his chest to his fingertips, locking his throat against the words that rose to be spoken.

Ziva rose suddenly to her feet, her chair squeaking against the wooden floor as she returned her rifle to her shoulder. "Dawn will come soon," she said swiftly. "We should get back to the shelter."

Gibbs swallowed against the lump in his throat and nodded. She was right; once the sun rose, it would be impossible to transfer the girls here without notice. He followed her lead out the door and back the way they came. When they neared their destination Gibbs pulled ahead to enter the house first, so that the first face Catherine and McGee saw would be a familiar one.

"Everything okay, boss?" McGee asked as soon as Gibbs stepped through the door. "You were gone for a long time."

Gibbs gave him a measured look and nodded towards the figure at his heels. "Back-up's here."

McGee's eyes flicked over Gibbs' shoulder and froze, stunned. "Ziva?" he breathed.

Ziva smiled gently, perhaps a little hesitantly. "McGee." She closed the distance between them and opened her arms just in time for Tim to engulf her in a fierce hug, tinged with desperate relief.

"It's so good to see you," he murmured, not releasing her.

"And I suppose that has nothing to do with the armed mob that was here an hour ago?" she joked into his shoulder.

"No, it doesn't," he responded succinctly. Ziva blinked, startled by the raw honesty of his response. Gibbs almost smiled. It was clear she hadn't thought much about what her departure from NCIS had meant to the rest of the team. She hadn't considered that they would still miss her, in spite of how she'd left them.

"I've missed you too, Tim," she said softly. Her arms tightened on him, her chin tucking into his shoulder. Gibbs didn't know if Ziva had forgotten she had a family in DC, but he was certain she now remembered.

When they parted Ziva shifted her attention to the rest of the rooms' occupants, but McGee's eyes never left her, as though she might disappear the second he took his eyes off her. Catherine introduced herself while Tim recovered. The pleasantries were brief, and as soon as they finished Ziva moved to the task at hand.

"It is too dangerous remain here," she told Catherine plainly. "Those men will continue to come, and Gibbs will likely be recalled within the next 48 hours." Catherine looked to Gibbs for confirmation, and he nodded. It was lucky he was still here tonight, but NCIS had overstayed its welcome.

"But you can help ward them off, can't you?" Catherine asked Ziva hopefully.

"There is a safe house not far from here. I would like to move the girls there for the next few days. It is small, but space enough. It will not hide you forever, but perhaps long enough for me to get all of you out of the country."

Catherine nodded. It wasn't much of a plan in terms of details, but it was more hope than they'd had an hour ago. When Ziva moved to speak with the girls directly, Catherine offered to translate, only to be waved away. "That will not be necessary, thank you," Ziva told her graciously before lapsing into fluent Pashtu. The girls' surprise soon faded to relief when they learned they would soon be leaving. As soon as they'd gathered their meager belongings Ziva and Gibbs took turns leading the girls in groups of two and three to the safe house. They were all silent, all aware of what it meant to be discovered. When Gibbs arrived with the last group Ziva nodded in approval before urging them to settle in and get some rest.

The girls didn't require much prodding. Within minutes their blankets were out and they found comfort enough to sleep. Ziva crossed to where Gibbs watched with an approving eye. She stood close enough to speak without raising her voice above a murmur. "I will return to the safe house until the morning," she said softly. "I will keep the lantern on and make enough noise to divert any who may be surveilling the front."

Gibbs picked up his rifle. "I'll go with you." She gave a single nod of consent. Gibbs turned to McGee. "Keep the girls safe. Keep them quiet, and if anything happens, radio me."

At McGee's nod Gibbs followed Ziva back out into the darkness. They re-entered the shelter through the back door, and wordlessly checked the defenses, and cleared their weapons to count their rounds. It was busy work, familiar to soldiers, and though it went smoothly, it was completed shortly. Only when they'd fallen into stillness did Gibbs take a moment to truly study her. She stood at the window, leaning against the chipped and dented wall se she stared through a crack in the boarded windows at the blackened street, arms folded casually across her chest. Guilt gnawed at Gibbs see how at home she was in the field, how naturally she scanned for threats in the darkness.

She had easily solved their immediate problem, and stood the best chance of providing the girls long-term protection, but for all of Ziva's ease with the current situation, it was clear she had been living a very different last few months. She was tan, and her hair had reclaimed its curl, longer now than when he'd last seen her. Her shoulders seemed slimmer, no longer carrying the old tension that had become a permanent fixture in DC. Her profile, such that he could see, showed him a face that was warm and content. Gibbs' heart lifted to see the happiness she'd earned for herself in the long few months she'd been on her own. It was followed by a sharp pain to see her resume the mantle she'd tried so hard to shed, and know that she did so at his request. As he watched, Ziva's gaze softened as her thoughts turned inwards.

"Ziver."

Her eyes closed gently at the sound of his voice. She must have expected this, known that inevitably their talk would shift from their predicament to the bond that still lingered between them. Opening her eyes, she turned her head to meet his gaze. "Jethro."

"How are you?" he asked simply.

Her lips lifted in a smile. "Good." She paused. "Better," she amended.

"I can tell." If Ziva was surprised by his observation, she didn't show it. She simply regarded him with eyes that twinkled in the light of the lantern. "You seem peaceful."

"Some days are better than others." Her head tilted thoughtfully. "Are you regretting having called me?"

"A little," he confessed. "But not for the reason you think." She remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate, if he wanted to. For once, she didn't rush to fill the silence. "I'm sorry to pull you back into something like this."

She huffed slightly, a wry grin twisting her lips as she returned her attention to the window. "When I got here, I was sorry too. That I hadn't refused, that I hadn't jumped at the chance to…" she trailed off, and shook her head, choosing a different route. "I wished I had continued on my journey, but as I squeezed the trigger it occurred to me that after months of trying to return to my roots, it very well may be that this is who I am at my core. If I go far enough back into my childhood, I may eventually find an innocent child, but one who ultimately chose to sacrifice that innocence to gain strength, and vengeance. _That_ is who I am."

"You seem… okay with that."

"It doesn't mean I have to continue to be that person. I chose to become that person—I can choose to become different now as well." She shrugged. "In theory, anyway. Regardless, I can no longer lay the blame for how my life turned out at my father's feet."

Gibbs stood, and crossed to lean against the wall on the far side of the window. Ziva's eyes turned on him once more, her lips turning upwards as she anticipated his words. "There's a place for you at NCIS if you want to come back."

"I know." Her smile turned apologetic. "But NCIS is too close to Mossad and all that I no longer wish to be. If I went back now, I would soon be unhappy again."

"And this?" he asked pointedly, glancing at the room around them.

"This… perhaps it is a way to be true to myself for the sake of something good. These girls are trapped in a world where it doesn't seem possible to say no. But they did. They chose to leave, and be something more. I admire that a great deal."

"Ziva…" Her eyes found his and gripped him tight. In the low light of the lamp, with shadows hugging them both and a hostile land outside their door, she was as beautiful as she'd ever been. Gibbs' feet moved of their own volition and carried him towards her. He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, reverent. The knot in his stomach unraveled when Ziva leaned into the touch, her hand lifting to trap his fingers against her skin.

"I have missed you, Jethro," she assured him, eyes glowing in the lamplight. "The hardest part of these past few months has not been facing my demons, but doing it alone."

"You don't have to."

She smiled sadly. "You of all people know that I do."

He did. The truth was that he was selfish. It had been possible to let her go when she was half a world away already. Now—seeing her, touching her— he didn't know if he could do it again. "Tell me what you need."

"Give me tonight," she hummed, eyes darkening with a new kind of hunger. "Give me tonight, so that when you leave tomorrow it won't feel like I've lost you as well."

Gibbs' answer was his lips on hers in a kiss to banish all the doubt, all the uncertainties and the pain of their estranged months. Ziva's grip on his neck tightened as she returned the kiss, pulling him closer. In moments their hands were distracted by clothes, following familiar motions to search out heated skin. There was no sound but the rustle of zippers and the quickening rasp of their breaths intermingling, and the sounds of their own heartbeats pounding in their ears.

After, when Jethro woke to the first lightening of the sky outside, Ziva was up and fully dressed. She cleaned her rifle with expert ease, looking for all the world like she'd done nothing more than stand watch all night. But when she smiled at him with bright eyes, the grin was easy and genuine. She gave him one last kiss before she slipped away. McGee appeared in her stead less than an hour later, and they waited in silence until their transport arrived. Anyone watching saw the two Americans leave. Two nights later, when the Americans stayed gone, the mob returned to find nothing but an empty house.


	2. Chapter 2

For three months, Gibbs heard nothing by the barest of news from Ziva. Though he wished for more, he didn't begrudge her. She was busy with moving the girls, and he wouldn't get in the way of that. He kept himself similarly busy, welcoming each new case as it came. Still, it was always a jolt to come home to an empty house. Tonight was no different as he opened the door and stepped into the dark foyer. Then he froze, his instincts sensing something off. The house was as he left it, but in the air there was the faintest scent of the desert—sand, sweat, and sun.

"Ziva?" He had no reason to expect a visit. He had no reason to believe she was here, and yet there wasn't a fraction of doubt as he peered into the shadows. He passed the foot of the stairs and leaned into the living room. He froze when a touch brushed hauntingly against his arm.

"Jethro."

Gibbs flipped on the nearest lamp and squinted in the sudden light to see her descending the stairs. He allowed himself a smile when her features split into a beaming grin, happiness pouring from her in waves as she lifted her arms to wrap around his neck, welcoming his embrace. He hugged her fiercely, only to release her immediately when she stiffened at the sudden pressure. "What is it?"

He scanned her quickly. Though he saw no visible bandages and she had moved naturally enough, he noted that her jacket hung oddly on her. Ziva shook her head to dispel his concern. "It's—"

"Don't say nothing," Jethro warned. Ziva sighed, relinquishing the pretense.

"Help me with my jacket," she conceded. Gibbs gently lifted her coat by the collar and carefully eased it down her arms. Underneath she wore a loose tank top, and in the dim light Gibbs saw a spidery burn that covered much of her shoulder blade and part of the way down her arm. It was pitted and rugged, and while it was no longer raw, it still retained the tender pink of new flesh. He'd seen the same kind of burn on who they'd thought was Sergeant Moreno, the honor killing that had led them to Kabul in the first place. He cursed.

"We ran into a little trouble when we moved the girls to a new safe house a few weeks ago. One of the girls' families had contracted a man to punish her. I almost didn't spot him in time."

"She all right?" he asked, drawing his fingers lightly along the edges of the wound. Ziva nodded.

"I caught the worst of it shielding her. She only got some splash-back. Most of the acid ended up in the dirt," she admitted with a derisive chuckle. "He had poor aim."

Jethro was quiet for several minutes. It wasn't difficult to imagine Ziva throwing herself between the attacker and her charge. "You get checked out by a doc?" he asked finally. If she hadn't, he had a mind to call Ducky, regardless that it seemed to be healing well on its own.

"I did," Ziva reassured him. Then her voice softened. "That's actually why I'm here. I—need to talk to you about something. Come sit?" She took her usual spot on the left side of the sofa. Jethro followed hesitantly, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He sat and waited for her to continue, thoughts swirling of illnesses like Jenny's or old injuries resurfacing. After several moments, she found the words she wanted.

"When the UN doctors were treating me, they found something irregular in my blood panels. They ran some additional checks to be sure." She took a deep breath, and reached out to take his hand. "I'm pregnant, Jethro."

Gibbs froze, stunned. When he saw her lips continue to move, he realized his ears roared. Forcing himself to resume breathing, the rushing of his blood abated until he could hear Ziva, who had continued to speak but then backtrack when she realized she'd lost him along the way.

"Jethro?"

He swallowed. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," she confirmed with a smile. "They estimated I was about 3 months along. I've skipped cycles before, and with my activity in Kabul I didn't think anything of it. But there's no doubt now. Already my clothes are a little tight."

She was right. The unnatural fit of her clothes he'd noticed before was a result of the subtle changes her body was already undergoing. Now, he recognized them as signs of pregnancy, and nothing more perilous than that. Gibbs' heart slowly tried to crawl up his windpipe. This was a chance to regain what he'd once had. A child, a family—he clamped down on those thoughts as soon as they popped into his brain. He knew what he wanted, but it was not his decision to make.

"What do you want to do?" he asked hoarsely. Ziva's features darkened suddenly, clouded by doubt.

"I never thought I would have children. I never wanted any, but then I thought I'd be in a position to have one with someone I loved." She paused, studying her hands. "I considered abortion. But I realized, I don't want to waste this chance to build a new kind of family. To provide for a child what I had with Tali and Ari, when we were young. I _want_ this baby."

"Ziva—"

"Please, let me finish," she interrupted, her tension rebuilding once more. "I don't expect anything from you, Jethro."

Gibbs' heart slammed against his ribs. "What does that mean?"

"We never discussed having children. We are not married. We have barely spoken in the past year. I made my decision fully prepared to do this on my own. I expect nothing."

Gibbs didn't say anything, unable to speak. If she was prepared to do this without any kind of help, then it was likely she didn't want him involved. At the prospect of being shut out, Gibbs knew without a doubt that he _did_ want to be involved. He wanted to take her to the appointments she would soon have, help pick out names, hold her hand through all of it and then, at the end, hold his child in his arms. But was that what _she_ wanted? He couldn't begin to guess, and he wouldn't ask her to sacrifice one more ounce of the peace she'd found. Her scarred arm already bore the consequences of the last time he'd asked her to put her journey to happiness on hold. So he remained silent.

"That is what I expect," Ziva continued hesitantly. "What I _hope_ …" Gibbs' gaze flew to hers, which was carefully averted. "I hope for a great deal more." Her lips pressed nervously into a thin line. "But I will not ask you to do anything you do not wish to. You are free to make your own decisions, but regardless of what you decide I wanted you to know—"

She quieted at the touch of his palm on hers, interlocking her fingers with his. He shifted closer to her, closing the distance between them.

"Yes," he said plainly. "To everything."

Ziva laughed then, a shaky breath of air that shook the tears loose from her lashes. They splashed and scattered on her cheeks. She wiped at them hurriedly, and chuckled with embarrassment when she felt his gaze. Gibbs opened his free arm. "C'mere," he beckoned. She leaned into him, wrapping her own arm under his shoulders. As her heat bled into his skin, and the scent of her hair filled his nostrils, his own eyes began to burn. The gaping hole in his chest he'd been living with since Ziva had last left for Israel was finally filling back in, in the form of the woman dampening the front of his shirt.

"Welcome home, Ziva."


	3. Chapter 3

Ziva waited a few days to get used to the time zone before she joined Gibbs on his way to the Navy Yard. It was an easy task getting a visitor's badge—she was surprised how many faces creased into smiles at the sight of her. Gibbs only smirked. Still, Ziva cracked a grin of her own when Jethro nudged her playfully. It was strange to be back where her face was remembered, and stranger yet that it was remembered fondly. They parted at the elevators: he went up, to the bullpen, and she headed down. When the doors opened on her intended destination she was immediately awash in the pulsing beat of electronic music, loud enough to deafen the unsuspecting.

If she were honest- and she was making a deliberate effort to not lie to herself- Ziva was relieved to be seeing Abby first. It had been her first instinct for several reasons, foremost of which that Abby was her closest friend. However, Ziva knew that had she followed Gibbs to the bullpen first, it wouldn't have taken more than a few minutes for Tony and McGee to recognize her pregnancy for what it was. It was a can of worms she was not keen on opening with Tony, and in fact found herself avoiding it as long as she could. Surely Abby wouldn't mind.

Ziva turned the corner into the forensics lab and paused briefly to watch her friend bounce happily at her work station in time with the beat. Soon, though, her ears begged her to make her presence known. "Abby!" Her voice was lost in the din, and the scientist continued on, oblivious. "ABBY!"

Abby whirled finally, her dark pigtails swinging wildly. "Ziva!" she pealed excitedly, pressing a button that made the music lower to a more tolerable level. "You're here! I can't believe it! Well, I mean, I can, because Gibbs told me you were coming, and Gibbs wouldn't lie about that, but that's—" Abby ran out of breath and paused to inhale. Then she froze, her eyes widening as they looked Ziva up and down. She fit the clues together with a sharp gasp of surprise. "Oh—Oh my god! You're pregnant!" She squeaked, slapping her hands over her mouth. "You did know you were pregnant, right? Please tell me I didn't just—"

"Yes, Abby," Ziva assured her, clasping her hands gently. "I was fully aware. As is Gibbs."

Abby beamed, squealing as lunged in for a fierce hug. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you," Ziva returned graciously. She let the embrace continue for several long minutes, before politely extricating herself. Abby didn't protest, respecting Ziva's boundaries with unusual restraint.

"It's so good to see you, Ziva," Abby said, unable to tear her eyes away. "And you look great. How are you?"

Ziva tucked her hair behind her ear self-consciously. She accustomed to going unnoticed, and after months of looking after a dozen Afghani women, she was unused to being the subject of such a motherly stare.

"I'm… better," she answered. It was similar to the response she'd given Gibbs in Kabul, but it was no less honest than it had been then. "I am glad to be home."

"Are you?" Abby asked pointedly. She shifted uncomfortably, leaning one hand on her work table. Her eyes remained fixed on Ziva, solemnly serious. "Home, I mean? Are you going to stay after the baby is born? And, there's nothing to say you have to stay here _before_ the baby is born, either…"

"I have no plans to leave again," Ziva said with a smile.

"Really?" Abby chirped brightly. "But what about your shelter? The girls?"

Ziva took a breath. "Do you remember my friend Monique?"

Abby nodded. "Tony told me about her. He didn't like her, but I think that's because she intimidated him. At the time, I wished I'd had the chance to meet her."

Ziva smiled. She considered what that meeting might have been like, and shared Abby's disappointment that it hadn't had the chance to happen. "I contacted her when I began making plans to return to America. She will be adding her expertise to the operation, and will fill in for me. To be honest, I think the girls will be in better hands than mine. Monique's network is far more expansive than my own. She'll keep the girls safe."

"That's really cool." Abby smiled, which quickly turned uneasy. "What did Tony say?"

Ziva worried her lower lip with her teeth. "I haven't seen them. Tony… does not know yet."

"Oh." Abby winced. "He still hasn't said much about what happened since you left. I don't think he's come to terms with you choosing to not come back with him."

Ziva was glad to be home, and even on some level looked forward to seeing Tony, but she had no intention of discussing the long-brewing tension between the two of them with Abby. The last thing Ziva wanted was for Abby to feel as though she had to pick a side. No one on the team deserved that, least of all the kind-hearted scientist.

"I will speak with him," she allowed, unwilling to say anything further. She squeezed Abby's hands reassuringly. "Will you come by for dinner tonight? I would like to catch up, if you have the time."

"Absolutely," Abby confirmed. She wrapped Ziva in one last brief hug. "I'm really glad you're back."

Ziva left the lab with a light heart. That lightness lingered on the elevator ride up to the bullpen, and then evaporated the instant Tony laid eyes on her. His features brightened at the sight of her, and in the heartbeat that followed she watched him notice the subtle swell of her belly and put the pieces together. A dark shadow cast itself across his eyes, shuttering her partner deep behind the mask he hastily plastered on as she neared.

"The prodigal daughter returns!" Tony called out jovially, rising from his chair to greet her. "You came back from the desert with a new friend, didn't you, Benny?"

Ziva rolled her eyes, recognizing a movie quote when she heard one. "For that, I am hugging McGee first." To prove her point she made a beeline for Tim, who had perked up at Tony's shout and quickly moved out from behind his desk to greet her.

"Ziva! It's great to see you." He hugged her quickly, barely glancing at her. "Don't mind Tony. His quotes have been more erratic lately. I think he's losing his touch. You look great…" He released her and finally looked at her, trailing off as he did. "You look… pregnant. Oh." He straightened, shooting a pleased grin in Tony's direction. "I get it."

With a sigh, she turned towards the culprit himself, who smirked good-naturedly. "Hello, Tony."

"Hey, Ziva." For all that his mask was in place, he did seem genuinely glad to see her, and when he opened his arms his embrace was gentle and warm. "Long time no see."

"Too long," she agreed. "I trust you have been taking care of McGee in my absence?"

McGee bristled, getting into the act with false offense. "Hey! I do not need taking care of!"

"That's not the 'taking care' she meant, McGee." Tony met Ziva's gaze and held it. "She meant am I keeping you humble, and the answer is yes, I have. Gladly. Happily. Most enthusiastically."

"Oh." McGee paused. "Yeah, he has. Mostly because he's sore that he didn't get to go to Kabul."

Ziva knew Tim meant it in good fun, that he was only giving as good as he got. But the way Tony's gaze darkened, it was as though he'd been dealt a deadly blow. His eyes darkened further, and Ziva had to wonder how much McGee had told him about her presence in Afghanistan, and how much it had made Tony wish all the more that he had been the one chosen for the field mission. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Gibbs' arrival before she could start.

"Dead Marine at Riverbend Park," he announced brusquely, striding into the bullpen with coffee in hand. "Gear up." All three men moved to collect their badges and weapons, leaving her standing alone in the center of the squad bay. Gibbs was the first to rejoin her, and he wrapped her in a one-armed hug. "Sorry, Ziver. I'll make it up to you."

"It's fine," she assured him. "We will have plenty of time to catch up."

McGee straightened excitedly. "We will?"

Ziva nodded, resting a hand on her belly. "I'll be around," she said simply. McGee's features lit with delight, and when he had his go-bag on one shoulder he swept her up into a fierce hug, one nearly as ferocious as Abby's had been.

"Congratulations," he said. Then, more softly, "I'm glad you're happy."

"Thank you, Tim," she returned, cupping his cheek with a light pat when he pulled away. She watched him leave, and saw Tony hesitate, lingering though his team was already heading for the elevator. He seemed to battle with himself, until Ziva spared him the trouble. "Go," she urged. "You don't want to get left behind."

It earned her a tight-lipped nod, but she was relieved when Tony turned his back and trotted to the waiting elevator. Ziva saw the keys Jethro had left for his personal vehicle, clearly meant for her to use to get back home without him. After a moment's thought, however, she turned and left them sitting on his desk. She had the urge to ride the bus today, and if it deposited her somewhere in the heart of DC, she was okay with that. She could do with a long walk.

* * *

Later that night, Gibbs found his home filled to bursting with family, voices, and laughter. At the heart of the hubbub was Ziva, whose seat on the couch was flanked by Abby on one side and Palmer on the other, both scientists thrilled like children at Christmas. Palmer perhaps was the most excited of them all, unable to contain his excitement at having an expecting couple to converse with. He babbled continuously about his preparations for his and his wife's planned adoption, and Ziva weathered the deluge gracefully.

Gibbs caught her eye when she turned her head to listen more carefully, and she smiled warmly at him. He settled back in his own seat, enveloped in the hubbub. He'd missed this. Not just Ziva's smile, but this—laughter and love and life in his house. He knew he would get used to it. With a baby on the way that noise would remain for a long, long time. For now, though, he basked in the novelty of it.

"Well, Ziva," McGee interjected when Palmer paused to take a breath, "you'll at least be happy to hear that Vance has fast-tracked your reinstatement. I saw your name flagged in the system before I left for the weekend. I wouldn't be surprised if you were an agent again by the end of the month."

Abby squealed with excitement at the prospect of having her friend back at work again, but Gibbs paused, watching Ziva's reaction. Her smile remained in place but it turned hollow, all trace of mirth evaporating in an instant. As he watched Ziva swallow as though it was suddenly painful, and lowered her eyes to her empty water glass. The rest of the room quieted at her distinct lack of enthusiasm. Abby's eyes shadowed with disappointment. "Ziva? Aren't you happy?"

Ziva inhaled. "It…" she paused, searching for the right words. "It was kind of the Director to think of me." She'd tried to spare Abby's feelings, but it was for naught. The scientist's eyes filled with tears, which Ziva deliberately did not see. Eyes on her glass, she rose abruptly. "Excuse me."

She stepped over Jimmy's legs and disappeared into the kitchen. The team watched her go, then turned their eyes on Gibbs for an explanation. Gibbs debated remaining where he was, not because he minded, but because it was strange to be the expected go-between. In the end he followed her wordlessly, if nothing else than to escape the waiting eyes. Ziva stood absently against the sink. The faucet poured water down the drain, her empty cup forgotten on the counter beside her.

She only looked up when his hip brushed hers, as he came to stand beside her. "What did you tell him?"

"That you were home," he responded.

"You didn't ask him to—"

"No," Gibbs said swiftly, shifting closer until their shoulders brushed. He had respected the peace she'd found in the past year, and refused to assume that her presence here equated a return to NCIS and all that she had deliberately put behind her a year ago. "It's your decision. Even if you'd already decided, I wouldn't discuss it until you were ready."

Ziva exhaled, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders. Then she shook her head, spine straightening slightly with decided purpose. "I cannot go back to NCIS."

Gibbs nodded. "Okay."

"If I have learned anything this past year," she continued, as though she had not heard him, "it is that I cannot rewrite my past. But to find peace, and happiness, I can choose to leave it behind, and avoid the paths that threaten to lead me back to it. It would be one thing if our cases were limited to the usual assaults, even homicides, but they never are. Every year there is some new conspiracy, always some new threat that returns me to that dark place. And you can promise that I will never be asked to assist on those missions, but we both know that you won't always have the authority to keep that promise. I am a valuable resource, and if I am an agent then NCIS will be obligated to use me. Vance has already proven that much to be true by making the effort to reinstate me, however well-meaning he may be, and I have been in the country for less than two weeks."

Gibbs couldn't argue the validity of that. Vance presumed too much, and while Gibbs understood the reasons, and could even believe Vance though he was doing it in the interest of his team, as a favor to them, but ultimately the world of national security boiled down to a bidding war, and Vance would certainly want to stake his claim before another agency tried to snap her up.

"I cannot return to that world and expect to keep what is left of me. I love all of you, and I want to help keep you safe—but it will destroy me, Jethro." She brushed tears out of her lashes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry…"

Gibbs wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. After a moment's resistance Ziva turned and melted into him. "Don't be sorry." It would pain everyone in the house for Ziva to remain apart from NCIS, but they'd get used to it once they realized she would be no less present in their lives. Finally, she was following her heart. In that moment, Gibbs had never been more proud.


	4. Chapter 4

In general, Ziva thoroughly disliked doctors. She supposed it was an aversion accrued through a lifetime of waiting for that one doctor who would see her x-rays and her medical file and condemn her to a life of desk work. Every injury was a failure on her part—to be faster, smarter, better than her enemy—and meant time away from her mission serving Mossad. Every doctor held the power to take away her job, and her purpose, to reduce her to nothing in her father's eyes. They were a reminder that her body was fragile, and could fail at any moment. They were condescending at best, disdainful at worst. One look at her history of fractured bones and battered flesh, and she was tossed into the same pile as thrill seekers and die-hards. It was one of the reasons why she enjoyed Ducky's company so much. Donald Mallard was knowledgeable, and though not technically a practicing physician, spoke to her in direct terms with no judgement whatsoever.

When looking for an obstetrician, Ziva doubted she would find a doctor she would find similar ease with. However, she was pleasantly surprised when she found a woman who was not only all of the things Ducky was, but had a facility to match. In place of autopsy tables and cadaver drawers Dr. Clemens' office sported plush chairs and warm colors, no doubt specifically designed to put an anxious mother at ease. Despite the décor, Ziva couldn't dispel the flutter of nervousness as Dr. Clemens—"Clara, please," the doctor requested within moments of meeting—spread warm jelly over Ziva's stomach and picked up the Doppler wand.

"Ready?" Clara asked with a smile. Ziva glanced at Gibbs, who nodded. When Clara had discovered that Ziva had gone nearly three months without a proper prenatal care visit, she had recommended Ziva be seen as soon as possible. Though she suspected Jethro would have accompanied her regardless, once they had been informed that the 3-month sonogram often allowed parents to hear a heartbeat Ziva knew there was no way he would _not_ be there at her side. She was glad for it, honestly.

"Ready," Ziva responded. Clara gently pressed the wand against the pool of jelly, carefully spreading it across Ziva's skin by turning it this way and that, searching for something only she could recognize. Ziva fought to keep her hand relaxed in Gibbs'. With each passing moment, Ziva's expectation of bad news grew. So little has gone right in her life; how could this be any different?

"Oh! We have a confirmed sighting," Clara announced happily. She hummed for a few minutes, peering at the monitor with her tongue between her teeth. A few twists of the wand, and Clara grinned in victory. "Good news! The baby looks healthy and is developing normally." She pointed at the center of the screen. "See that? That's your baby!"

Jethro nodded as though he too could see the shape of an infant on the screen. Ziva made a mental note to get the truth of it later when they got home. All she saw was a shifting image of shadows on the screen; no baby to be seen, just shifting grains as Clara took several screen shots at different angles. "It's too early to know the sex yet," Clara continued, "but it's just about time for…" she fiddled with a knob on the monitor. "There."

At first Ziva heard nothing but static, but after a few moments she realized that the static rose and fell in a steady rhythm. _Whuh whoosh, whuh whoosh:_ the unmistakable sound of a tiny, beating heart. Jethro's grip on Ziva's hand tightened suddenly. One glance at his face made Ziva's chest clench painfully. Tears glistened in his eyes, and a smile curled his lips. Over the years, Ziva had seen him with countless children, witnessed him earning their trust and putting their fears to rest. Today, however, for the first time she saw him as a father. She imagined this was how he must have looked a lifetime ago, holding Shannon's hand and hearing Kelly's heartbeat.

The jealousy that surged was dampened an instant later. They had never discussed Shannon and Kelly before, not his life with them or the memories he cherished. She could never bring herself to ask, and Jethro never offered it of his own volition. Ziva didn't begrudge his secrecy; there were memories of her own past she desperately clung to, and would keep close to her as long as she could. For all Ziva knew, Gibbs had never witnessed a sonogram before, nor heard the heartbeat of his unborn child. Perhaps he had been deployed, and had come home to meet his months-old daughter when his tour was ended. Regardless, his innocent reaction to the sound of his baby's heartbeat sparked an emotion in Ziva that was unfamiliar; as dark as jealousy but different, directed inward rather than towards the specters of Shannon and Kelly.

Before Ziva knew it, Clara had shut down the Doppler machine and given her a tissue to dry her stomach of the sticky gel that remained. The closing questions passed in a blink, and as Ziva slipped into her coat, a business card listing her next appointment in hand, she kept a pleasant smile plastered on her face. It wasn't until Gibbs dropped her off back at the house that the smile fell away. Her preoccupation with Jethro's reaction evaporated and in the moments that followed, the silence pressed in on her. She had paint swatches to compare for every room on the main level, and flooring websites to scour for the new kitchen Gibbs had assured he would help her build, but every single chore Ziva had laid out for herself that morning disappeared in an instant. Ziva sat on the sofa and breathed, reminding herself that the quiet was good; it was peaceful, calming. However, it could not eclipse the realization that she was alone with a baby whose heart beat inside her, and did nothing to disguise the fact she felt no connection to it at all.


	5. Chapter 5

When Tony stormed into the bullpen, Gibbs knew something had happened, and his gut said it had something to do with Ziva. It hadn't escaped his notice that that his senior field agent had been avoiding him and Ziva both outside of the office, but they had discussed and agreed on what they would so when he eventually came knocking. Gibbs was pissed that he'd chosen a work to finally visit Ziva, when he knew she would be home alone, but more concerning was that Ziva hadn't been herself since the sonogram. Gibbs was prepared to give her time to work through whatever she needed to, but of all the weeks to finally break the ice, Tony had chosen this one. Still, it seemed as though she had handled it on her own. Tony's thunderous expression confirmed that Ziva had done as they each agreed—she'd told Tony the truth.

"Dinozzo!" he barked, drawing every eye in the bullpen. It didn't bother him. Tony's entrance had already drawn attention. "My office, now."

He half-expected Tony would refuse. It was clear that respect for his team leader wasn't high among his priorities. But come he did, and Tony was the one who slammed the elevator into a halt once they were alone inside.

"Say it," Gibbs ordered.

Tony sneered. "Say what?"

"You clearly got something on your mind, Dinozzo. Spit it out."

The elevator shook around them as Tony's fist slammed into the metal wall. "Fine. Let's talk about the fact your rules are a joke—and you know it."

Gibbs stepped in, skewering Tony with a hard glare. "Is that what you really think?"

"Don't play games with me, Gibbs," Dinozzo warned. "It's not just _what I think_ , it's fact. You're a walking, talking hypocrite. You've been preaching your precious rules since the day I started, acting like they were the end-all be-all of a good team." He scoffed. "And like a chump I believed you."

"The rules are important," Gibbs said deliberately.

"Yeah so important you decided to break Rule 12." Tony's expression soured. "For _years_. With my _partner_."

They regarded each other, the elevator creaking in the silence. Rage crackled at Dinozzo's edges. He griped about rules, but Gibbs suspected that it wasn't the broken rules he minded so much, but rather who Gibbs had broken them with.

Tony sneered at Gibbs' silence. "You both must have had a good long laugh at my expense."

"We weren't thinking about you, Dinozzo."

"No, just yourselves. Did you even stop to consider what this would do to the team?"

Gibbs shifted. "It wasn't easy," he said honestly. The implications of their working relationship notwithstanding, it often felt like nothing about them was easy. His past, hers; they both had enough baggage to sink a tugboat, but it was simple once they let that go. If it was just them, with the extra noise outside their door, it was a no-brainer. The world didn't seem to stay out for long, but since Ziva had come home, it had yet to rear its ugly head. Not even an outburst from Dinozzo could beckon it in. "We had to work at it. And we did think about the team. That's why we kept it out of the office. We did a good job."

"You did a goo—" Tony's words were strangled in his throat. He swallowed, then tried to cover it with a laugh. It emerged as a cough. "A good job? That's what you've got to say?"

Gibbs shrugged. "What else do you want me to say? I'm not gonna apologize."

"Well maybe you should!" Tony roared. "I listened to you! I respected you! You and your rules, and everything else about this damn team. Damn it!" He slammed his hand against the elevator again, turning his back on Gibbs. "If it weren't for those damn rules…"

"What?" Gibbs challenged. Tony's eyes flew to his, and in that moment, the man's bitterness was tangible, affirmed by the guilt that followed an instant later. "Then you would have made your move and it'd be you with Ziva, is that it?" Tony didn't answer. "Let's get one thing straight—I didn't make you do a damn thing. If it was worth the risk, you would've made that move a long time ago. Ziva did."

Dinozzo's eyes skittered away, chastised. As well he should be. Ziva wasn't a game piece in this, moved here and there by other hands. She was the master of her own life, and the baby, her home—they were her choice. Gibbs turned to restart the elevator, but paused when Dinozzo said his name, voice raw with emotion. "I just want to know why."

"There is always a time and place rules need to be broken," Gibbs said finally. He flipped the switch to put the elevator back in motion. "This was mine."

The elevator hummed, bearing them down towards the lobby. Tony shook his head, his mouth twisted into an unpleasant grimace. "So what now? I'm just supposed to follow your orders like nothing happened?"

"That's how it works, Dinozzo."

"And what if I have a problem with that?"

The doors opened with a ding. "Get a new team."

Gibbs left the elevator with Tony standing alone inside, and bore left towards the stairs. Within seconds he had his phone in his hand, dialing home. The knot in his gut didn't begin to unwind until Ziva's voice came over the line. Even though he knew she could handle herself even while pregnant, even though she assured him she was fine, Gibbs couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

* * *

Gibbs' concern was validated when he stepped into a dark house later that night. He found Ziva downstairs, sitting on the ground with her back up against the stairs, her eyes unfocused and staring at the stain that could no longer be seen by the naked eye, but could never be forgotten by either of them. "What are you doing down here, Ziva?" he asked softly, sitting to join her on the hard concrete.

"Thinking," she replied roughly. Her eyes were swollen, evidence that she'd been crying recently, though they were dry now. "Why else would anyone come down here?"

Gibbs sighed. "You can't let whatever Dinozzo said get to you, Ziver. He's hurt, but he'll come around."

A bitter scoff of a laugh escaped here. "I stopped caring about what Tony thinks a long time ago."

Gibbs watched. He hadn't noticed their partnership weakening before she left NCIS, and from what Dinozzo said in the elevator it seemed as though the senior field agent hadn't noticed either. But Gibbs supposed there might not have been much left to weaken after Rivkin, and Somalia.

"Then what's really going on?" he asked finally. Thikning or no, Ziva had avoided the basement like the plague since she'd come home, and for good reason. This was where it had started, the beginning of the end for her tenure at Mossad, and where their trust had first been born.

Ziva sighed, hanging her head in defeat. "The baby kicked today."

Gibbs started in surprise, a rush of elation bubbling up. "Ziva, that's great-!" Except the tears that sprang to her eyes assured him that is wasn't great. Far from it. "Not so great."

"We were shouting, Jethro," she confessed. "I was angry and Tony refused to _listen_. I just wanted to—" She caught herself from saying too much, but Gibbs understood. Tony had a history of selective myopia, especially where Ziva was concerned. "It was the worst I've felt in almost a year—and our baby chooses that moment to kick for the first time." Her head bowed again, her hair hiding her tears. He reached out to take her hand.

"It doesn't mean anything," he said, only for her to jerk her fingers from his.

"I think it does."

"It this really about the kick? Or is it about the sonogram?" Ziva's head rose, her shock at his insight nearly immediately eclipsed by the consequent shame the flooded her expression. "You haven't been yourself since the appointment. What's wrong?"

Ziva's eyes closed. When she opened them, he was still there, as was his question. A tear trailed down her cheek and Gibbs resisted the urge to brush it away. He instead retook her hand, which she let him have without a fuss. "I looked at you during the sonogram, Jethro. You… you had tears in your eyes. And I knew, right then I knew that already loved this child. You looked so happy."

Gibbs nodded slowly. "And you…?"

"I don't love this baby, Jethro," she confessed. "I know, I hope, in my head I know that once the baby is born I will love it as much as you did in that moment. I can't understand why I don't _feel_ it as you already do. I want to believe that as soon as I see this baby and hold it in my arms that I will be head over heels in love with it, but..." She sniffed, wiping her eyes. "What if I'm not? What if that love never comes, and- what if I become my father?"

Gibbs couldn't say anything. He doubted there was anything he could say. There was no miracle moment when a baby was born where he, or anyone, could guarantee she would feel that bond. For some families it could take days, weeks, months after the baby was born to feel a connection. Some mothers never did, but that wasn't something he would voice, and risk compounding her fear. Besides, he doubted that would be the case for Ziva. She doubted herself, that much was clear, but Gibbs knew she would find her bond. He saw the softness in her eyes when they worked with kids, and saw the way she slipped past their walls and befriended them. She talked to them as people, not children to be talked down to. She bonded with them; this child would be no different.

"What can I do?" he asked simply.

She shrugged, sagging markedly. Her secret was out, off her shoulders now that her perceived shame was in the open, and he hadn't pulled away. "I don't know." A small smile curled her lips. "I think you're already doing it."

"Doing what?"

That got her to laugh, just a little. "Just… being here. Listening. Keep doing that?"

"Of course." He paused, then smirked. "It'll be hard. You're such a talker yourself."

That earned another laugh. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to talk about all of this. I cannot even tell whether what I'm feeling is real, or just hormones, or…" Ziva looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and smiled at finding him ready to speak. "I know, I know—it's valid, whether it is the hormones or not."

"Damn right." He leaned into her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Now some of her unease was creeping away, and she was starting to slump, losing the stiffness in her spine. The worst was over, for now at least. "We'll be okay," he said. "That I can promise. We'll find our way."

She nodded sleepily. "I hope so."


	6. Chapter 6

Gibbs opened his eyes, and sleepily decided he was still dreaming. Sunlight leaked in past the drawn blinds, casting shafts of ethereal light across the silent bedroom. Gibbs was pleasantly warm under a thin sheet, and as moments passed he slowly remembered that the time was metered by breaths that were not his own. He rolled over onto his side, wrapping a long arm around the body next to him. His face ended up somewhere in a forest of soft black hair. Inhaling deeply, Gibbs smiled. He had missed these mornings—warm skin and solid bodies replacing memories of her absence, his loneliness. He had missed her more than he would ever say aloud. Ziva sighed, a soft hum of comfort purring in her throat as she shifted back, leaning into him. His lips found her shoulder through her hair and pressed a kiss to her neck.

"Morning," she blurred sleepily, not opening her eyes. Gibbs remembered how tired Shannon had been during her pregnancy before he'd been deployed; he had often come home after his duty shift to find her sacked out on the couch. The same exhaustion seemed to hit Ziva like a freight train. She, who slept on a hair trigger, now slept like a log long past her customary pre-dawn internal wake-up call. It also amped her snoring up to an eleven, but this morning it was blissfully quiet as she slowly worked her way up to the land of the living.

Or not. Her breathing evened out again, her brief encounter with wakefulness swiftly fading as she pressed against him, seeking his warmth. Gibbs shifted until his palm lay flat against the smooth curve of her belly. He imagined he could feel the tiny heartbeat it contained. Tears burned against his eyelids. _A dream,_ he thought. _Even I couldn't dream something like this_. Ziva's hand covered his, as though sensing the shifting mood.

"I missed you," she said, repeating the words she'd offered six months ago in Kabul. Her eyes finally opened, not without effort. She blinked laboriously, stretching the sleep from her lids. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Missed you too." They hadn't spoken of her journey. Gibbs could admit to himself that he was curious, if not about the places she'd visited, then for the reasons she chose them. He wondered if she had remained in Israel, or if she had chased her past into Europe. He asked her about her time in Afghanistan with the girls. He would not ask her about before, unless she chose to share it with him.

Ziva rolled in his arms to face him, one leg tucking itself between his knees. "What do you want to do today?"

"You've got lunch with Abby," he reminded her.

Ziva's answering smirk was mulish. "You're right. What was I thinking? It will take all weekend, we—"she broke into a fit of giggles, squirming to avoid his fingers poking her sides, digging into her sensitive, never-admitted-to ticklish spots. "Ack! Okay, okay!" He relented, and they both relaxed against the pillows.

There was silence for a bit, then—"How about the paint store?"

Ziva blinked. "The paint store? What for?"

"Figured we could start looking at colors for the baby's room." Gibbs paused, sensing a shift when Ziva did not respond. "Ziver?"

"I like that idea," she said softly. She nodded. "Yes. Just us?"

"Just us." Abby had repeatedly offered her services in every way possible—if the woman had her druthers, she'd be in the guest room now, just to keep an eye on things. While Gibbs was grateful for the offer of help, especially when a case kept him late or out of phone contact, both he and Ziva remained firm that some things would be done on their own.

"Jethro?" Gibbs hummed an acknowledgement. "I've been wanting to ask you…"

"Ask me what?"

"Would you build a crib? As you did for Amira?"

Gibbs smiled. "I already have the design sketched out. I can show—"

"No," Ziva said quickly, but gently. "Don't show me."

"Want it to be a surprise?"

"It's not that, exactly. I…" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I don't want my reaction to influence you. It should be as you envision it. So one day our child will look back on it and see nothing but you in the carvings."

Outside, a lonely songbird called. Down the street a car door slammed, signs of an active day that had yet to penetrate their sanctuary. "I think I understand," Gibbs said. She rolled over, and placed a warm callused hand on his bare chest. "It'll be waiting for both of you when you come home from the hospital."

"Thank you," she murmured softly. Her lips brushed his, ghostly and fleeting. He caught her there, framing her face in his hands and planting his lips more firmly. She returned it easily, granting him the physical surety of her presence. She was no ghost, no imagined figure. Her heart thudded tangibly, her pulse flickering to the touch as his lips trailed down her neck. He felt it stutter, then quicken as her breath hitched in response.

"The paint can wait another hour."

Ziva's eyes lit with something feral and alluring. "Agreed," came her hungry growl. It was more than the expected hour before they found their way back out of the sheets.


	7. Chapter 7

McGee paused from taking pictures of their apparent murder weapon—a busted brick crusted with blood and bone—and took a moment to observe Dinozzo. Gibbs had given Tony lead on this one in order to take Ziva to an appointment, but instead of gloating Tony scowled like a sullen teenager as he watched Ducky and Palmer placing the victim's body in a black bag. Tim wanted nothing more than to stay out of whatever was bugging him, but some of the local LEOs were starting to notice and murmur amongst themselves. With the reputation of NCIS on the line, he had no choice once Tony noticed his gaze. Once the body was ready for transport, Tony drifted his way, eyes scouring the ground for further clues. Tim let his camera hang from the strap around his neck and took a deep breath.

"Got something on your mind, Tony?"

Tony's eyes darted to him, darkened, and then returned to the pavement. "No," he growled.

Tim sighed, but took up his camera again, almost ready to drop the subject entirely. "Could have fooled me."

Several moments passed silently before Tony finally turned back to him. "Gibbs and Ziva slept together," he stated forcefully. Tim raised one eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Figured that one out on my own," Tim shrugged. "Because, you know. The baby."

Tony's expression soured further. "Before the baby, McDoofus. Before Kabul. They've been sleeping together for years… while Ziva was still on the team."

Tim stopped to consider that. If that was what Tony was pissed about, Tim failed to see how that affected them now. It certainly explained a few oddities over the years between Ziva and Gibbs, and made the idea of a family far more natural now. "Okay," he responded.

"Okay?!" Tony exclaimed incredulously.

Tim shrugged again. "What else should I say, Tony? It's none of my business. The fact I never realized before means they obviously did a good job keeping it out of the office, so I can't really complain, even if I wanted to. I think it's great."

"You think it's great that Ziva's been banging the boss? You're not worried that Gibbs abused his authority, or played favorites?"

At that, Tim's spine stiffened as he finally rose to Tony's baiting. He gave his team leader a hard stare. "That's absurd."

"Is it?" Tony challenged.

"Yeah, it is! Because if Gibbs had, I seriously doubt Ziva would have ended up in Somalia!" His shout rendered Tony speechless, and attracted the stares of several police officers. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Tim lowered his voice. "And you know what? I really wish he had, if it would have spared her that."

They didn't speak about Somalia. At first they had avoided it out of respect for Ziva, to protect her from the memories of it while she was at the Navy Yard. That silence extended even to when Ziva wasn't present. They were grown men, they had gotten captured on purpose, so it didn't really matter what had happened in the confines of that camp. It also meant they didn't have to talk about what had led them there, or why Ziva had left NCIS in the first place—for which McGee was sure Tony didn't want to think about.

"And what about Rule #12, huh?" Tony pressed further, clearly not content to let the subject drop. "That doesn't bother you either?"

Tim waved that one aside. "Why would it? It's Gibbs' rule, not mine. If I had a problem with them breaking Rule #12, then I'd have to be bothered by my dating Abby."

Tony blinked. "You're dating Abby?"

"Not anymore," Tim said quickly. "But we were, we _did._ "

"Abby isn't part of the team—"

"You can be the one to tell her that, then. I'm sure Gibbs would have something to say about that too." In the form of a smack to the head.

Tony rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant, McGee."

"If you really think that Rule #12 didn't apply to Abby, of all people, then you're being intentionally obtuse. Whether you think it does or not, Gibbs didn't say anything when we were dating."

"You're sure he knew?"

"Gibbs knows everything."

Tony couldn't argue with that. At the time, Tim had been grateful they'd been careful enough to not draw Gibbs' attention, but as the years had passed he'd become increasingly convinced that he hadn't gotten away with a damn thing. Gibbs had let them make their own choices in spite of Rule #12 and still had yet to say word one about it.

"Look, Tony, I know you thought you had some kind of future with Ziva, but the bottom line is, if you really care about her, you'll be happy that she's happy. That's it."

"But—"

"Tony. Stop it. You weren't even happy as partners!"

Tony gritted his teeth. "I suppose you think you're the expert on all things Ziva now, don't you?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Anyone with eyes could see it."

"Why are you taking their side anyway? We've been partners even before Ziva came—"

"We were never partners, Tony," McGee responded swiftly. "We were teammates, but not partners. You belittled me and degraded what I do and what I enjoy even after Kate died. I tolerated it because I knew under all the disparaging remarks that you were a good agent and I could learn a lot from you, and because Gibbs and Ziva made it easier to swallow. But don't pretend our working relationship has been all sunshine and roses."

It felt good to finally say it—Tim had suffered in silence a long, long time. Still, he did regret it a little when Tony's expression shut down completely, leaving nothing but anger behind. "Then I'm sure you were all too happy to get one over on me, huh?"

"What?!" Sensing that the conversation was shifting towards the erratic accusations of a tantrum, Tim turned away. "You know what? Forget it."

"You must have loved it when she came to you for help finding Bodner. That she came to you, instead of her damn partner!"

McGee froze, then turned on his heel. A hard laugh bubbled in his throat, but the barely contained fury in Tony's eyes made him swallow it. For years, Tim had seen Tony's behavior shift and change, not always for the better. He'd seen it drive Kate, and then Ziva, crazy. For Ziva, it had pushed her straight out of the country and back to Mossad. In that moment, in front of half a dozen nameless officers and the persistent rubberneckers, Tim realized that Tony truly didn't have a clue when it came to Ziva, and that this crush—infatuation—was centered around Tony, and had nothing to do with any bond between him and Ziva.

"She didn't," Tim replied finally, his throat tight with growing anger.

"Oh, sorry, I must have been mistaken when I found you guys working together in a seedy motel room!"

"Tony, just shut up for a minute, will you?" McGee said forcefully. Tony blinked, taken aback. His jaw clicked shut. "Ziva didn't ask me for anything. I knew she was going to pursue Bodner, and I started to dig on my own. When I had information, I passed it along to her, and offered to help. I told her I would be able to work faster if I knew which bases she'd already covered. That's when she brought me up to speed. I did it on my own time, of my volition. She didn't ask."

Tony shook his head. "Why the hell would you do that? We could have _lost_ her—"

"Because we _did_ lose her!" Anger burned low in Tim's gut, remembering the look in her eyes when he'd said goodbye to her on the tarmac before she, Tony and Gibbs flew Rivkin's body to Israel. It was the last time he saw her before Saleem's men had dragged her hooded and bound into their cell in Somalia, and that look lingered for months after her rescue. The memory of it still haunted him, as did the knowledge that he could have prevented it. "We lost her," he repeated, "and we had to go to Somalia get her back. I wasn't going to let that happen again. I wasn't going to let your pride drive her away again."

Tony's features darkened dangerously, his fist curling at his side. "What's that supposed to mean, McGee?"

McGee refused to be cowed. He let his own anger rise, and push him onward. "It means that you haven't cared about anyone but yourself in a long time. You're mad now because _your_ partner didn't include you in an operation you immediately condemned when you found out about it. You're mad that _your_ partner has chosen to make her life with Gibbs. You're not her _partner,_ Tony, you're her keeper. You became her watchdog and you're pissed she never thanked you for it. You're selfish, and petty. I can live with that, but I don't blame Ziva for wanting to get away from it."

"You don't know what you're talking about. I love—" Tony's growl stopped abruptly, catching on the words he no longer had any right to say.

"No, Tony," McGee said. "You don't. I love Ziva. She's my family. That's why I knew she would go after Bodner and why I offered to help her do it. You might love the idea of Ziva, of a having a life with her, but you don't love _her_. If you did, you'd be happy that she's happy now, and not stay hung up on _who_ she chose to be happy with."

McGee froze, suddenly very aware that if Tony chose to slug him, it would be in front of the watchful eyes of their audience. Tony glared at him, standing mute with dark eyes that tried to skewer Tim where he stood. Now that the words were out, McGee deflated. While not a word that had spilled out of him was untrue, they hadn't been said with the intent to drive Tony away. Looking at him now, McGee was almost certain that they would. Ziva was gone and not returning to NCIS, and Tony's faith in Gibbs had been shattered, perhaps irreversibly. That left McGee as Tony's sole tether to the Major Case Response Team, and Tim might have just severed it as well. Still, as the silence pressed in on them, he couldn't bring himself to apologize.

"I'm going to go… photograph something else."

He left Tony standing there, aware of the eyes on his back and trying to convince himself that he wasn't bothered by it. His feet carried him past the autopsy van, where Palmer's solemn gaze caught his eye. He expected the younger man to pull his gaze away immediately, guilty at having overheard, but Jimmy only gave a single nod of agreement.


	8. Chapter 8

Ziva napped daily now. She enjoyed it, which was a good thing considering she didn't have much choice in the matter. She'd tried ignoring her body's fatigue once during her second trimester, and the night had ended with her crying into the pot of potatoes she was boiling for dinner. After that, Ziva fully relinquished herself to the naps. She often woke craving something, prompting Jethro to learn her rhythms, and grabbing several of her usual victims any time he went to the store. This time when she woke up bleary-eyed and fuzzy-toothed from her nap, Ziva grabbed one of the half-dozen pints of coffee ice cream from the freezer and a spoon, then returned directly to the couch to enjoy it.

It was while she mouthed a spoonful of of the decadent dessert, letting the cold on her tongue further wake her up, when she heard a knock on the door. She glanced at her ice cream, and decided against setting it down. She planted her spoon in the carton and levered herself up to her feet with her unencumbered hand. Ziva opened the door expecting a well-meaning neighbor, but froze when Tony met her gaze on the other side. A icy rush of adrenaline poured down her spine, banishing any trace of sleep from her body. Her free hand reflexively touched her belly. Their last conversation had ended in yelling and slammed doors—and a sharp kick to the kidney that had frightened her more than any physical threat ever had.

This time, Tony hadn't come ready to do battle. He looked shaken and uncertain, his eyes heavy with a troubled guilt that deepened when he saw her hand protecting her belly.

"Tony?"

"Hey," he greeted softly. "I'm not here to fight. I, ah, I was hoping we could talk. For real this time. No yelling. I promise."

Ziva nodded quickly, opening the door further to admit him. "Yes, of course. Please come in." He stepped across the threshold and then paused, waiting for her to shut the door and direct him further. At her nod, he took a stiff seat on the edge of the couch. She sat next to him, and took her spoon up again, churning the quickly softening dessert. "It's been over a month," she said quietly.

Tony nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously. "I know. I didn't know what else I was could say." Ziva nodded in understanding. She had nearly called him twice, each putting the phone down without dialing for much the same reason. "And I was still mad," Tony added.

"What changed?" Ziva tore her eyes from her ice cream and met his gaze. This time, she didn't find any accusations staring back at her. Just honesty and a gentle openness that reminded her of her early days at NCIS.

"I'm not sure." He winced at his own words. "Actually, I do. McGee, ah… McGee had some choice words. I'd forgotten he had that kind of bite." He looked up and his expression faltered when he saw Ziva's smile. "I bet that's satisfying to hear," he grumbled.

"Oh, Tony, no. I did not mean—" Ziva sighed, but couldn't banish her smile completely. "It's only that it still feels strange."

"What does?"

Warmth bloomed in the bottom of her stomach, spreading outwards until her whole body felt flushed with it. "Knowing I have a family. One who will stand up for me, even if they know I can take care of myself." She felt Tony's eyes on her, studying her, and her smile deepened. "McGee knows he is a part of that family. I believe he takes it very seriously. I'm lucky to have him."

Tony blinked quickly, and stared at his hands. "Am I?"

Ziva's brow furrowed. "Are you lucky to have Tim?"

"Hah—no. I mean, am I… Am I part of your family?" he asked carefully. Almost immediately, he scrubbed a hand through his in aggravation. "Am I even allowed to ask that?"

"Yes," Ziva replied. Then she hesitated, suddenly as unsure as he was. "I would like you to be. Truly. We left things in a difficult place when I remained in Israel, and coming back in my condition didn't help." She met his gaze once more. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Tony."

"I just can't believe I didn't see it. I'm a trained investigator, we practically live together, and I just—I didn't see it."

Ziva dropped her eyes to the carton in her hands. "You can't blame yourself, Tony. You didn't expect your teammates to lie to you."

Tony's hand reached out to touch her wrist. It stayed there, gentle as can be, until Ziva released her ice cream to turn her palm up, letting his hand slide in to clasp it. When she looked at him, Tony wasn't smiling. "My teammates shouldn't have felt that they needed to. That's my fault, Ziva. The truth is, I've come to expect a lot from you, and not all of it good. I did expect you to lie. Bodner was only one instance, and I might have been right, but I shouldn't have tried to catch you in the act. McGee's right. I didn't give you a lot of reason to trust me after Somalia. Or even before. I might have had good intentions, but that doesn't make it right."

"Tony…"

"Please let me finish. This—this isn't easy." He took a deep breath, and smiled when Ziva gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I want you to trust me, Ziva. With your happiness, and with the family you're building for yourself. I'd like to be a part of it, if you'll let me. It won't happen overnight. We have a lot to work through, but I'm ready to put in the effort, if you want to." He paused again, collecting himself. "We might not ever be partners again, but maybe… Maybe we can get back to being friends."

Silence fell over the house, but instead of delivering a crushing weight, Ziva felt almost giddy. Relief made her heart light, and she gripped Tony's hand as tightly as she dared. "I would like that," she confirmed readily. Ziva nodded. "I would like nothing more."

She and Tony talked for hours more, only parting when the sun began to fade. They left the troubles between them for another day, and simply enjoyed the act of talking itself. She told him of the girls she had worked with, how Monique had taken over and was doing well with them, and he spoke of sports and movies and all the things he used to regale her with. Eventually, his talk had turned to plans for his career, and that is what she thought of well into the night, when she and Gibbs lay comfortably in bed.

"I think Tony is going to leave the MCRT," she said softly, closing her eyes in content as Gibbs spooned up against her, his warm fingers spread against the baby's bump.

"He tell you that?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that vibrated against her skin as he kissed her shoulder.

"Not in so many words. But some of what he said…" She shook her head. "I never wanted to come between you, Jethro. The team needs Tony, and he needs you even if he won't admit it."

She felt Gibbs lift his head to look at her. "You didn't think he'd stay my second in command forever, did you?"

"No, I suppose not. But… We may be ready to start healing, but he's still hurting. If he leaves now…" If Tony left now, it would not be so very different from what she herself had done a year ago. There was nothing wrong with that, or what she chose to do, except for the fact that she was very different from Tony, and the circumstances urging them to leave even more so. Ziva had left because she was sure of her friends, but not herself. She couldn't speak for Tony's reasons, but she knew her bones that he needed the connection of his teammates, and that if he left now he would not find what he needed.

"He needs to stand on his own feet, Ziver," Gibbs told her. "He's learned all that he can from me. It's time for him to have his own team, make his own rules. It's only natural." Ziva didn't respond to that; she couldn't deny that it was true, but in her heart she knew that it was still, somehow, wrong. Gibbs gave her a quick squeeze, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Hey."

"Jethro…"

"I've been thinking about retiring."

At that, Ziva's eyes flew open, her growing sleepiness vanishing in an instant. She rolled—a cumbersome process that took far longer than his words warranted—and looked him straight in the eye. "What did you say?"

Gibbs met her gaze solemnly. "I want to retire," he said plainly.

Ziva blinked, still stunned. "You sound very certain."

"That's because I am." His fingers brushed hers, and they twined together easily. "Ziva, I missed half of Kelly's childhood because of the Corps. I told myself it was okay because I'd have the rest of her life to make it up to her. I never got that chance. I'm not going to make that mistake again. Maybe I'll still consult every once in a while, but we don't need the money. I want to be here, with you and the baby."

"Jethro, I still haven't decided whether or not _I'm_ going to work after the baby is born…"

"That's okay. You can make that decision whenever you're ready. But now your decision doesn't have to be limited by childcare options. If I'm here with the baby, you'll have more freedom to do what you need to. Your journey doesn't stop just because you're a mom. You can follow your happiness wherever it takes you. You… the baby… you two are my happiness, Ziver. I'm not going to waste a minute of it. Not again."

Tears burned at the back of Ziva's throat, but she was glad when her eyes remained dry. "If it is what you want, I won't stop you. So long as you are sure…"

"I'm sure." He tugged on their laced fingers, sliding closer to wrap his free arm around her, drawing her as close as her bump would allow. "100%."

"Okay," she whispered, breathing in the scent of him. It calmed her racing heart, and cleared the doubts from her mind. "Wait. Does that mean—"

"I want Dinozzo to take over, yes." He grinned against her hair, tickling her scalp. "Why do you think I kept him around so long?"


	9. Chapter 9

The morning of Gibbs last day at work dawned bright and early. Gibbs rose and began his routine as though nothing about today was different. Ziva, however, could not bring herself to roll over and go back to sleep when his alarm went off. Fighting the terse grip of sleep, she pried her eyes open, and threw back the covers to let the cold air steal into her cozy cocoon. Even with the chill and the sound of Jethro humming a Marine Corps cadence in the shower, it took Ziva several tries to keep her eyes from slamming shut again.

When Gibbs stepped out of the shower, he couldn't help but grin at the sight of Ziva dozing with one leg hanging off the bed, as though she had gotten halfway to sitting up before succumbing to the sandman. By the time he was finishing his shave, Ziva sat laboriously on the edge of the bed, watching him with bleary eyes. Gibbs watched her in turn from the mirror, smiling from behind the foam at her tousled hair and pink cloud-spotted pajamas. He caught her hand scratching at her swollen stomach as he rinsed. Straightening, he patted his face and hands dry on a towel before grabbing up her lotion. She didn't notice his intentions until he knelt in front of her—her eyes warmed from surprise to tenderness when she recognized the bottle in his hands.

"You know me too well," she said, voice husky with sleep. Still she gave no protest when he slid her shirt up and began to work a dollop of lotion into her stretched skin. It was a process they usually performed before bed, but Jethro enjoyed the rhythm of it no matter the time of day. He continued until every inch of her belly was warm and soft. As was his practice, he finished with a kiss, a single peck above her protruding belly button, where he imagined the baby's head would be. When he finally looked up again, he froze.

All trace of sleep had vanished from Ziva's eyes. She looked at him long and hard, studying him. When he rose to kiss her lips, she stopped him with both hands framing his face, making him pause.

"I want to remember this forever," she said softly. Her eyes sparkled. "This moment, this…feeling." Ziva smiled. "I can't remember ever feeling so loved."

Jethro gave her a heartbeat more, then pressed against her hands, kissing her softly. She would get used to it, he decided right then and there. Between him and the baby, together they would make it so she couldn't ever remember being alone.


	10. Chapter 10

"That's it, Ziver, almost there," Gibbs coaxed, squeezing Ziva's sweating, white-knuckled hand as hard as he dared. Ziva glared at him, her cheeks red and tacky with sweat as she huffed for breath.

"You have said the same thing for the past 6 contractions," she accused. "I no longer believe you."

"Actually, he's right this time, Miss Ziva," Dr. Clemens— _Clara—_ piped up from between Ziva's covered and spread knees. "Your baby is about to crown. One last big push should do the trick. Are you ready?"

"No—" Her retort cut itself short as a gasp escaped, the next contraction quickly building. Her fingers clamped down on Gibbs' hand, until he heard his bones creaking.

"Now, Ziva!" he urged, quickly joined by Clara.

"Push!"

Ziva pushed for all she was worth, loosing a battle cry that would put any Marine to shame. Just as her breath began to peter out, everything changed. Her face went slack with relief and her body lost its fight, the battle won. The doctors flurried out of sight, as Gibbs focused all of his attention on Ziva, who lay exhausted, eyes closed.

"You did it." He kissed her hand, which shook with fatigue. "You're amazing."

Her eyes cracked open. "The baby?"

"With the doctors—" Gibbs was interrupted by a sharp wail, pulling both their gazes to where the nurse held an all too tiny bundle of life in her arms.

"Are you ready to meet your daughter?" she said brightly. Gibbs' breath caught in his throat, trapped by a sudden lump. He wordlessly accepted the small bundle, staring stunned at the squalling baby girl protesting her sudden eviction. He didn't notice his vision had blurred until Ziva's hand touched his arm.

"Jethro…"

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he brought their baby to Ziva's waiting arms. The baby soon quieted against her mother's chest, easing into displeased whimpers and the soft cooing only newborns could make. Gibbs slid his arm behind Ziva's neck, pressing his forehead against her damp hair, content to watch her hold their daughter. Inevitably his hand reached out to stroke the soft-capped head resting against Ziva's chest. Ziva's head pressed against his in silent communication, the only way she could express her understanding without saying the words. They stayed there, breathing and staring at the wonder in Ziva's arms. In the quiet, Gibbs heard a sniff, quick and congested as Ziva's hand darted from the baby to her cheek, dashing the gathering tears away. They kept coming, but when Gibbs dipped his head, he found her smiling. Her hands returned to the baby, unwilling to relinquish their, and the tears fell unchecked. Whatever Ziva had been looking for, whatever she thought was missing that night after fighting with Tony… Gibbs knew she had found it.

When the doctors came back to collect the baby for further examination and tests, Gibbs' knees crackled viciously as he returned to his feet. Ziva urged him to meet the others, who were still waiting in a room somewhere outside, anxious to hear the news.

"Go," Ziva urged. "Abby will be out of her mind by now. Tell her that everyone is fine. It will give me a chance to catch my breath before everyone comes barging in to see the baby."

Gibbs grinned and nodded. He hesitated before rising, sneaking in a quick kiss. "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you too," she whispered back.

"You did good."

" _We_ did good," she corrected. "Sorry about your hand." Her tone, though, suggested otherwise. She gave his cheek a light pat. "Now go."

Gibbs chuckled. "Yes, ma'am." He gave her the privacy she desired by stepping out into the hallway. He pulled off the disposable scrubs he'd been given, and gave himself the moment he needed to regain an even keel by taking his time to crumple it up and stuff it in the nearest trash can. When he no longer felt like he would tip over, he followed the signs towards the waiting room. Sure enough, Abby was pacing a rut into the tile floor, wringing her hands anxiously. Ducky saw him first, uttering the scientist's name to alert her to Gibbs' arrival. She whirled, her eyes widening, then spreading into a beaming smile when she read the joy in his eyes.

"Gibbs!" Abby scurried towards him in short strides until she could throw her arms around him. "Congratulations! How's Ziva? Is the baby okay?"

"She's fine. Baby's okay too."

"And the baby? Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A gi—" His voice caught, which he covered by clearing his throat. "A girl," Gibbs tried again. Abby gasped in surprise. "I have a daughter." Another daughter. He couldn't quite believe he could be so lucky. He had done this before—with a different family, different friends waiting to congratulate him. No better, no worse than the last time he'd had this moment. Just different.

Abby squealed loudly and hugged him again, this time tight enough to make his ribs bend. McGee followed suit scant moments later, and then the others, including a stiff backslap from Dinozzo. Leyla planted a kiss on his cheek, her eyes damp. Amira hugged his leg, unaware of why but joining in on the fun. Gibbs ruffled her hair, basking in their warmth.

"Mr. Gibbs?" the nurse interrupted them. "Ziva says she's ready for everyone to come back."

Ziva grinned wide as they all filed in. Gibbs went straight to her side, reflexively reaching out to touch the baby sleeping nestled in her arms. The child had been cleaned and wrapped in a fresh cream colored blanket.

"Oh my gosh," Abby exclaimed softly. "Ziva, she's beautiful."

"She truly is," Leyla concurred, grinning widely.

"Thank you," Ziva returned. She glanced at Gibbs to gauge his readiness for what came next. He nodded. "Everyone, I would like to introduce you to our daughter, Kira David. And this, Kira-leh, is your family." Despite her best efforts, the tears rose again, clouding her voice with happiness. "Welcome home."


End file.
